


Burn Baby, burn

by Suchthingbutnever



Series: Ziam fuckathon [5]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse, Omega Zayn, Porn With Plot, Self-Lubrication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suchthingbutnever/pseuds/Suchthingbutnever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a cold November evening, half way into his third heat of the year, Zayn stumbles into a boy sitting in his favorite library spot. He never imagined things to become quite so sticky. AU/ Omega!Verse/ partial shameless PWP</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn Baby, burn

Maybe it was the rain that kept him from noticing.

 

It was almost December now, and Zayn was absolutely loaded with stacks of books on Dadaism and contemporary art theory for his looming essay assignments. His teeth chattered while he did his best to cover the books with his leather jacket against the biting wind and the sprinkles of icy rain drops that assaulted him once he got off the bus. There was absolutely nothing nice about essay season – not the long nights in the deserted library, not his old, soaked shoes that needed quick replacing, and definitely not having to keep track of his bloody heat cycles.

 

Every four months, the small print in his prescribed pill bottle said – and since he dutifully began taking the pills after his eighteenth birthday in January, that made April, August and December his new months of dread, sweat and solitary humiliation.

 

The gloomy lights of the, thankfully twenty-four/seven, library started getting closer, standing out amongst all the other dark, deserted campus buildings. Zayn tugged his scarf higher, hiding the tip of his nose, and gritted his teeth against the cold before the gush of hot air released him. The automatic doors slipped shut behind him, and for a few moments he just stood and let himself enjoy the blaring warmth that his cheap student accommodation didn’t offer.

 

The library was mostly deserted. Near the two coffee machines there were a few clusters of students, yawning and exchanging notes. Zayn recognized Harry, a slow-tempered beta he shared a few art courses with, standing with a few of his friends, mussing up his hair before pulling his beanie back on. He gave him a brief nod in passing, before tapping in with his student ID card and heading straight towards the elevators.

 

He pressed the buttons, head already up on third floor, where his favorite seat was, right behind the engineering section, completely secluded from prying eyes. A blonde boy, smelling of rain and musk and the cold outside walked in behind Zayn, humming to whatever song was playing on his headphones. Zayn caught a brief glimpse of him in the elevator mirror, and immediately his heartbeat picked up, drumming out a crazy rhythm against his rib-case. The smell was subtle at first, then hit fully home – the boy was an alpha, his pheromones made that much clear. Zayn held his breath and kept his head low, waiting desperately for the elevator to come to a stop. The blonde lad stepped out without a word, still singing to himself quietly.

 

Zayn let out his breath in a loud gush, but now he could feel it, clearer than ever.

 

The trickle of heat along his spine, the itch barely palpable but ever-present in his abdomen. He swore to himself, hating everything from his assignments to his genetics. Had he felt the spark of warmth earlier, he wouldn’t have even bothered coming out of his room – he would’ve stocked up on water and coke from the vending machine and jammed a chair against his fucking door to keep people out.

 

Fuck, why him? Why couldn’t he just be a plain, old beta? So much easier, no wasted time writhing against sheets and ducking away from pheromone-spraying alphas. In a gesture of defiance, Zayn squared his shoulders and proceeded to the engineering section anyways. Fuck all this, damn it all to hell. He had bleeding essays to write, books to read.

 

He was seething and so deep in his bitter thoughts that he didn’t even realize that someone was already sitting in his seat until he stood right before them. From the overwhelming scent that hit him once he skidded to a stop, the guy was yet another alpha. Sweet and musky, with a bitter, tart tang. Zayn took a huge gulp of air and immediately regretted it – the lad smelled wonderful, he smelled like a promise, like touches ghosting over Zayn’s skin, like drops of water cooling his overheated forehead.

It only occurred to him that he had been staring at the guy’s nape when he turned around, wide shoulders twisting deliciously, muscled arm resting against the back of the chair. Zayn swore, this was the only time of the year he ever noticed these things.

 

“Uh, are you alright? I, oh. Oh.” The guy had wide eyes and a friendly smile that quickly dropped when he got a proper sniff of Zayn. “Oh, god. You should, uh.”

“Yeah.” Zayn commanded himself to leave, to turn on the spot and storm out of the building, jog back to his room, crawl under the covers and die. “I, uh. I should, I’m not…”

But his stupid body didn’t abide – instead, his eyes skidded to the guy’s Adam’s apple, the way his hands looked broad and rough, and the bulge now becoming visible underneath his black jeans. Somewhere inside his head, a small, irrational voice told him to get down and nuzzle the lad’s crotch until he was allowed to put his lips around the actual thing. Unwillingly he made a small, helpless noise in the back of his throat that had his cheeks flaming with humiliation.

 

What the hell? Zayn shook his head and forced himself out of his reverie. He turned, eyes still fixed on the square-cut jawline and the soft hairs on the guy’s nape, and promptly stumbled and fell over. Somewhere in between all his daydreaming, he had dropped his bag and books, which his foot conveniently became tangled up in. “Fuck, fucking bollocks, fuckfuckfuck.”

Immediately he felt the presence of Mr. Hot-Handsome-and-Nice, looming above him, eyebrows crinkled in distress, while the bulge in his trousers was more obvious than ever from this angle. Zayn moved to sit up, while the guy leaned down and extended a helping hand.

 

The collision had Zayn seeing stars, not from the force, but the smell, the texture of Mr. Hot’s skin. Without thinking he reached up and tugged him down, crashing their lips together with one delicious, swift movement. Oh, how he hated his bloody fucking heats, but he had never felt anything better in his life. He leaned up against him, feeling their foreheads bump together, their knees knocking and bloody hell, that was tongue.

 

“Shite, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, oh God. Oh God.”

 

Zayn blinked, disoriented, grasping for the warmth that had suddenly disappeared. The guy was now half-way across the aisle, leaning against a bookshelf, and breathing heavily while apologizing profusely. “I never meant to – you just smelled so good, I mean, I mean –“ the guy took a deep breath before saying sincerely: “you should really, really go home.”

 

“Yeah.” Zayn heard himself reply. He could feel a hint of wetness soaking through his boxers – he was getting slick. The presence of the alpha was exhilarating his heat. In an hour or so, he probably wouldn’t even be able to talk in proper sentences. “Yeah, I should get going.”

And without a further thought, he picked up his bag, the books be damned, and hurried away from the intoxicating smell of the guy.

 

Faintly, he could hear footsteps and realized that the guy was following him, arms half tugged into a jacket; backpack haphazardly slung over one shoulder. It stirred something inside him that was all at once fearful and excited beyond comprehension. He gritted his teeth and tried to recall every special lesson he had had to attend during year nine, huddled in his seat with thirty other kids, scared and embarrassed. Keep your head down, keep walking, call this special number for help if needed.

 

He was half-way out of the library when the guy caught up with him.

 

“Hey, hey! I’m sorry, yeah? I just – let me walk you home? I’ll keep away, I promise.” The guy kept a solid three step distance between them, eyes fixed on Zayn. “I just want to make sure you get home safe.” The last words were spoken with a subtle, rumbling authority that had Zayn shuddering, the slickness making the inside of his thighs tacky.

“Yeah, whatever.” He kept his half-jog, feeling faint and out of breath. He wanted nothing more than get home and collapse, except maybe to pull down his trousers and beg the strange guy to fuck him right there on the side-walk. The thought burned against the back of his throat, and made him delirious and angry at the same time.

 

“I’m Liam, by the way.” The guy extended a hand and then quickly pulled it back, laughing in embarrassment. “Do you live at Fleming?”

“Yeah.” Zayn nodded against his scarf, eyes darting to take in the tousled brown hair, the long stride of his legs, his own feeling weaker by the moment. He wanted Liam to fuck him up against that lamppost. “You?”

“Same here – it’s a big building, I guess.” Liam’s smile was friendly enough, but there was a pained edge to it, something desperate and commanding that he kept back. The thought made Zayn flush – that Liam wanted him just as much, wanted to taste him, to spread his legs and kiss a trail down to his hole that was tacky and slick and perfect and waiting to be fucked open.

“Oh God.” Zayn heard himself moan. “Fuck, get the fuck away from me.” Except, did he even want that now? Did he really want Liam to leave him alone? Everything in his head screamed ‘no’ before he could even contemplate it.

 

“Sorry, sorry.” Liam was falling behind, but he didn’t stop entirely. “I promise, I just want to know you got home safe.” He sped up again, and just in time, because out of nowhere, Zayn’s legs decided to take a break and give out.

 

“Shit, bloody shit.” Zayn chanted to himself while leaning back into the warmth of Liam’s breath, puffing out in white clouds against the darkness of the night. His hands were broad and firm, holding him up like it was nothing at all, and they were picking up pace.

“Sorry, sorry, we’re almost there. Just – what floor?”

“Second, number – uh. Oh.” Zayn couldn’t keep it in, the way Liam felt against him, all wide-shouldered and hard underneath his layers of clothing, was just too good. His hormone addled brain wanted nothing more than this, this, this all over him, holding him up, or down, it didn’t matter.

“Your, your room number, hey!” They were now struggling up stairs, and Zayn tried to reclaim at least some part of his mind.

“Uh, two-oh-six.” He finally managed. “Keys, bag. In the bag.”

There was some struggling, the some jingling and then Zayn was thrust into his room unceremoniously, landing hard on his knees. His bag followed, and then the door was slammed shut.

 

He could hear a dimmed “sorry” outside, and no. Just, no.

 

Before he knew what was happening, he was half-crawling, and twisting his door open with difficulty. His eyes zoomed and focused on Liam, who was sat leaning up against the opposite wall, rubbing the bulge in his trousers, mouth an open, pink ‘O’. Zayn tried to crawl a bit faster, and then he was in Liam’s lap, grinding down shamelessly. “Oh, oh. I want you – I want you to fucking – “

“Fudge, fudge, fudge!” Liam said, and under other circumstances Zayn would’ve laughed at that. He heard a door opening to his left, and Louis, his thank-god-almighty beta flat-mate poked his head out and gasped. Before Zayn could hear what he had to say, Liam had already picked him up, and charged headfirst into his room.

 

The door slammed shut behind them once again.

 

Zayn toppled over and landed on his bed. The sudden familiarity and softness only added to his arousal, and before long he had clawed off his sweater, his T-shirt before fumbling stupidly with the buttons on his way-too-tight, now tacky skinny jeans. “Fucking, Liam. Fuck – just, please?” Bravo, what a sentence, he lauded himself in his head. “I promise this is consensual – just, oh, please?”

Liam was standing by his desk, clutching and very probably breaking Zayn’s chair, eyes hungry, shirt half-sliding off his shoulders, and holy fuck, that looked good.

 

“I – I, will you please – just, what’s your name?”

Zayn almost laughed at that, had he not at that very moment managed to tug down his jeans and palm himself through his boxers. “Ah, ah. Name’s Zayn. Come on!”

And then, all of a sudden, with all his delicious weight, Liam was crashing on top of him, hands possessive at his waist, mouth biting at Zayn’s collarbone, and oh fuck. “Zayn, that’s a nice name.” he murmured before they were kissing again, all tongue and teeth and nipping bites this time.

 

Zayn started grinding up, the heat becoming too much, the tugging in his abdomen bordering on painful. “Please, Liam, just – fuck me. C’mon. Ah, fuck me.” Once he had said it, it became a thousand times easier to speak out loud, and he found himself repeating it like a mantra. Liam silenced him with a deep kiss, hands wandering lower. He let out a gasp at how tacky Zayn already was, how wet and gagging for it.

 

They both struggled to get Zayn’s trousers and underwear down, before Liam was already lifting his legs, pinning them back, and lining his hot, heavy cock up and thrusting in without bothering to take off any of his clothes at all. Zayn vaguely registered someone screaming in his voice, before all he could feel was the drag, the stretch of it, the easy rhythm Liam set. He had had sex before, sure. He wasn’t some daft virgin – but it was the first time someone had fucked him during his heat. Not that he had ever planned on that happening – he always felt too vulnerable, too desperate, too humiliated to ask someone, anyone. But fuck, it was different, it felt so. Damn. Good.

 

His vision cleared a little, but only to allow him quick mental snapshots of Liam’s broad shoulders, the light trail of hair that disappeared under his shirt, the drops of sweat that beaded at the tip of his nose. His hands clutched at the back of Zayn’s thighs like vices, and god, he was big – maybe getting bigger with every thrust.

Zayn felt helpless, vulnerable. A little part inside him was genuinely disgusted with himself, for allowing this to happen, for basically spreading his legs and begging to be fucked like some cheap omega whore. But all of that was dimmed with the urgency of the fire burning in the pit of his stomach, the incredible stretch he felt with every stroke, and Liam’s lips pressing against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, teeth almost palpable, like he wanted to bite, to claim.

 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Zayn gasped when Liam sped up, trying to catch his breath while canting his hips upward to get him deeper inside, to that one spot that was burning to be touched. “Liam, Liam, oh, please, can you – ” He didn’t want to scream ‘harder, deeper’, like they were in some stupid porn film, but the angle just wasn’t right.

“Sorry, sorry.” Liam slowed down his effort, holding himself up on one arm while shrugging his shirt off with the other, chest glistening with sweat. His jeans were half-clinging to his narrow hips, zipper undone and dragging against Zayn’s inner thighs. “I’ve – uh, I’ve never actually done this before. I mean, not like this, yeah?”

 

Zayn moaned in frustration, he reached down and started touching himself, pressing in a finger along with Liam’s cock. It felt so good that he almost passed out with a half-choked groan. He felt Liam nudge his hand away, and suddenly two thick, long fingers slid in, slick with his natural lubrication, and started twisting.

 

The room, already dark, went absolutely pitch-black, and Zayn suspected that his eyes had rolled back in their sockets. He came with a choked out sob.

From his previous experiences, it was always the first orgasm that was the most desperate, the hardest to achieve. Normally he would’ve been tugging himself off, vibrator working away between his legs, until the orgasm was almost ripped out of him in pain. This time it was different. Having someone else touch him, the weight of Liam’s cock pulsing inside him, hot and throbbing, and those skilled fingers pressing in alongside it – it triggered something inside Zayn, made hot tears well up.

 

“Oh, oh my God, no.” Liam’s voice was almost too loud against his ear while he frantically stroked the side of Zayn’s face, thumb trailing along his pulse. “Don’t cry, don’t cry.” His hips made involuntary snapping movements, and he groaned against Zayn’s neck. “Stop crying, Zayn, please, come on.” He paired his soft, concerned words with angry, hard thrusts that had Zayn seeing stars on his shabby ceiling. Then Liam pushed himself up, levelling on both his elbows, until Zayn’s legs were spread open almost obscenely – not that anything about this wasn’t obscene. And the snapped his hips in, and “oh motherfucking hell”.

 

This time it was right. The angle was perfect. And Liam seemed to have realized it as well, because he continued on pounding Zayn into his dangerously squeaking bed for what felt like an eternity. They may or may not have banged the wall with the cheap headboard, or had several people (which was probably only Louis) knock on the door in protest. Zayn couldn’t give less of a fuck.

 

He blacked out somewhere in between, just to wake up feeling so full and wet he might pass out for good. Liam’s jeans were now all the way down at his ankles, tangled up with his boots, and he let out silent, uncontrolled gasps. “Oh god, Zayn, Zayn, Zayn.”

Zayn tried to sit up, and winced. “Liam, what…?” And then he looked down and remembered year nine clearer than ever, all over again. The base of Liam’s cock had swollen up significantly, an impressive bulge, a – “fucking knot!” Zayn spat, and for a second, he panicked. But then Liam was pushing him down again, muscles on his arms tightening, and started moving his hips in light circles, knot tugging in and out of his hole before pushing in entirely, still moving, so big, so fucking big. And then Liam was gasping, nails digging into his legs painfully while a hot wetness filled him up like a rush.

 

And that was the second time Zayn came.

 

Everything became a little hazy after that. Liam was a heavy, warm weight on top of him, hips making little circular movements while his knot pushed against Zayn’s spot, again and again. “Sorry, it’ll take some time for it to go down, I guess.”

“Yeah, they fucking taught us that in year nine.” Zayn snapped back, but then he was gripping Liam’s head, tugging him down and kissing him again, unwilling to let go, to let any part of him go untouched.

“Uhm.” Liam said in between kisses, “uh, what do you study?”

This time, Zayn managed to laugh. Liam was balls deep inside him, they were both covered in his come, while Liam’s was steadily leaking from where they were still tightly joined, and he still managed to be polite. “Art.”

“I do engineering.”

“Ah.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop fucking apologizing all the time.”

“Yeah, I mean, I guess we don’t need to talk if you don’t want to.”

 

Zayn turned his head slightly, and caught thick eyebrows pulling together into a frown. Liam’s eyes were downcast, but he could still make out the chocolaty brown colour, his pupils blown wide. Zayn followed the slope of his nose all the way down to his strong jaw that was now tensely set. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that, yeah?”

Liam just nodded, before lifting himself up again. It tugged at his knot inside Zayn, and for a second he opened his mouth to complain, before he realized that Liam was trying to take his weight off him, give him some breathing space. Who was this guy?

 

Zayn reached up again and pulled Liam down, whimpering as the heaviness came back to settle on top of him, and leaned up to kiss him, close-mouthed, eyes half-lid. Of course he had read about it, what with people starting relationships after heat, or even giving away the bite, while it was all just hormones, bloody hormones. Heat bonding wasn’t uncommon at all – and for his heart to speed up when Liam returned the kiss, thumb stroking along his pulse again, well, it was only part of it all. He was sharing his heat with someone for the first time, after all, he heard his own voice whisper in his head.

 

It would go away after a while.

 

Liam fucked him through three more orgasms, knotted him once more before getting up and fetching him water from the bathroom, kissing away the sweat on his brow and making him finish the bottle before letting him slip away into his delirious dreams. It continued on like that for another one and a half days.

When Zayn wasn’t on all fours, biting a pillow with the effort not to scream out loud, he was talking to Liam, curled up against his chest, about the things that were random and unimportant, but also things that were deeply private, the he wouldn’t have told anyone in a million years. With Liam flush against his back, deeply buried inside him, it just felt natural to talk about his childhood, or compare the first time he had bought a dildo to that particular position they had just tried out.

 

Somewhere in between, Louis left a hot pizza box outside the door with a note reading ‘u owe me lucky biatch’. They divided it among themselves, while Liam revealed that he actually knew Louis from the football team, and they shared a few anecdotes on their mutual friend. Zayn kept his heart rate in check and managed not to reach over and kiss Liam every time he laughed at something, but just barely. He couldn’t fucking wait until his heat was over.

 

They woke up on top of each other on Friday morning, Liam’s hand still covering Zayn’s arse from when he had coaxed his last orgasm out of him with his fingers. Zayn felt better – he felt fresh and disgustingly tacky at the same time, and he was absolutely ravenous. “Fuck, I could eat a horse.”

“I could eat two.” Liam was standing up, and for the first time since Zayn stumbled over him in the library, he saw him in daylight with a clear head. His hair was mussed and there were several bite marks scattered over his shoulders – he was heartbreakingly gorgeous. “There’s a place down the road where they make you a full English for a fiver, it’s actually not awful.”

“No.” Zayn sat up in his sheets, feeling his heartbeat pick up. “I mean, I have to get back to my essays. And I have to, like, clean.” He looked around the room, avoiding eye-contact.

Liam was quiet for a while, then he nodded and picked up his shirt, buttoning it up, and fetching his Jacket and backpack. “I guess, I’ll see you, then…?” His eyes were trained on Zayn, like he couldn’t bear letting him out of sight, and there was a tightness to his mouth that looked like carefully masked disappointment. “Yeah, sorry. I mean, cheers. I’ll see you.”

 

And with that, he was out the door.

 

Zayn collapsed back into his disgusting sheets and bit down hard on his lip. Heat-bonding, how bloody pathetic. Just like the rest of heat, it drained any sense and reason out of him – because he didn’t fucking know Liam, not really, and while his genetics had decided to crave his body, his thick, huge knot, Zayn didn’t want his brain to be part of the deal. He wanted a clear mind – he wanted, he fucking wanted –

 

Zayn buried his nose into the one pillow bloody student housing had provided, and all he could smell was the musky sweetness of Liam’s scent. “It’ll go away.” He told himself sternly, “It will go away.”

 

—-

 

It didn’t go away.

 

December came and went, Zayn wrote his essays and handed them in. He went home for Christmas, played with his sisters, cooked with his mum, fiddled about in the garage with his dad. He celebrated new years with his mates, drunkenly hooking up with a girl at some point. None of it stopped him from opening his eyes in the morning and craving the phantom of Liam’s scent.

 

In a slightly intoxicated bout of midnight madness, he found Liam on facebook and spent the hours till morning flipping through the few pictures that he had access to. When he went back to university in January, he finally caved and told Louis, which resulted in a whole lot of shouting and shoving. “Are you going to wait until fucking April or what?” Louis had said to him, huffing. “Maybe by then he’ll have fucking bonded with someone else, and you’ll have to fuck yourself on that low-quality vibrator again.”

 

He had a point. But Zayn wasn’t one to acknowledge Louis’ advice at the best of times.

 

March rolled around, and within the blink of an eye Zayn was back to writing essays and putting together his portfolio like a maniac. He spent long hours during the day at the studio, splattering himself with paint and getting charcoal smudges all over his clothes. The nights he spent at the library, type-typing away.

 

Maybe it was the heavy smell of acrylics, combined with fatigue, that kept him from noticing.

 

He opted for the stairs, laptop clutched in his hands, thoughts far away. His lecturer had given them clear guidelines on this particular assignment, uninventive questions to precisely answer. It looked to be such a dull day of work.

 

“Woah, careful –“

 

A blonde guy, holding two sandwiches and a cup of coffee dodged out of the way, cursing a little. Zayn murmured something in apology, already moving on, before stopping dead in his tracks. He didn’t recognize the boy, but he had recognized that scent. Something inside him spiked up defensively, but when he calmed himself and took a few deep gulps of air, he felt the faint trickle of heat crawl up his spine.

 

He knew that the best, the only logical thing to do was to turn back on his heels, run back to his room and barricade himself for three days. But then a familiar voice said in his head: “You should really, really go home.” And Zayn felt himself cave from the quick stab of hurt. The prospect of spending heat without Liam made him physically sick.

He commanded his feet to turn back, go down the stairs. But instead, they walked up, like they knew exactly where he was going. So maybe it wasn’t just heat bonding – maybe he had genuinely fallen a little. More than a little, who knew.

 

When he reached that little niche on the third floor, the one that he hadn’t been to since the end of last November, he took a deep breath, and immediately knew that Liam was there. His scent, musky and sweet, stood out to Zayn like an old friend in a sea of strange faces. He knew what this would look like – a bitch of an omega only coming back when he needed someone to fuck him through his heat.

 

But he went ahead and stepped near Liam, anyways.

 

Just like Zayn, Liam recognized him the minute he took the step forward. His head whipped around, and his jaw dropped, and Zayn just wanted to bend down and kiss him, or alternately tell him that he knew an even better place around the corner where they could get lunch for just four quid. He reigned himself in, and just gave an awkward little wave, eyes trained on the curls that were now on top of Liam’s head, he’d grown them out. He wanted to bury his hands in those curls while Liam’s tongue – 

 

“Can I help you?”

 

Zayn snapped out of his reverie, and for the first time he registered that on the seat next to Liam was a girl, eyebrows knitted, mouth an unhappy downturn. She could probably smell Zayn as well, smell the heat that was crawling up his skin. “Can I, like, talk to you for a second?” he managed to croak out.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Liam nodded, “Sorry, Dani.”

“We wanted to finish this today, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

Zayn walked Liam around at least half a dozen bookshelves before attacking him, hands clutching at his shoulders. Liam kissed him back, pressing him up against the wall next to Math textbooks and physics lexica. Zayn felt himself shudder at the impact of the feelings accosting his chest, and his mind flicked back to the girl sitting next to Liam. She wanted him. Of course she did. Why wouldn’t she? Who else would get up to fetch you water, stroke your hair in your sleep and apologize at the same time? Who else would take you out for breakfast in an attempt to get to know the person they just spent three days fucking? Liam hadn’t wanted it to be meaningless sex.

 

“Liam, please.” Zayn took another deep breath, cheeks already flushing with heat. “I, I need to talk to you.”

“Okay.” Liam took a few steps back. “But I’m – I’m not coming with you, okay?”

“Listen, I’m not here because of that.” Zayn wanted to smack himself against the head. “I just wanted to – “

“You don’t need to sweet talk me, it’s alright.” Liam smiled a little, and gave a general wave towards Zayn. “I’m fucking mental for not going with you, you’re like, you’re unreal. But I don’t think, uh, I don’t feel like I can do that.” 

Zayn stepped towards him, breath labored and urgent. “I’m fucking in love with you.” He blurted out, “I just – I didn’t want some, some alpha fucking my brains out and then taking the rest of my intellect as well.” He snorted before stepping even closer, and Liam’s scent was absolutely intoxicating. “But you – I couldn’t, like, help myself. Or something.”

Liam was staring at him, eyes wide, and for a second Zayn pictured him shaking his head and turning away, going back to that fucking girl who would probably do anything under the sun to keep his attention. Then he crashed their lips together and gasped out a: “Fudge, Zayn.” 

 

Zayn laughed against his lips, involuntarily. And then he felt the slick trickling down.


End file.
